<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Parallels and Repeat by RunningHaunted</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691727">Parallels and Repeat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunningHaunted/pseuds/RunningHaunted'>RunningHaunted</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kindred [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Everyone Knows They’re in Love, Hurt, Jaskier’s mental state is questionable at best, M/M, Mild Comfort, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Jaskier, Renfri what are you still doing here, except them, many charas get mentioned</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:35:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,683</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunningHaunted/pseuds/RunningHaunted</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Geralt becomes increasingly more upset, Jaskier‘s mental state is questionable at best, and Roach would prefer she belong to someone who isn’t as emotionally constipated.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kindred [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>984</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Parallels and Repeat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ok, everyone say „thank you“ to our dear @angry-kirbo for this chapter, because I got impressively stuck somewhere in the middle and they got me out of it with their awesome ideas and tips! So ALL HAILLLLLL!!!! You have been such a huge inspiration darling and your train of thoughts kept me on my toes and writing! ^w^</p><p>And a huge „thank you“ to my beta @Matlida_Nicki as well! An angel who sacrificed their free time to eliminate all the nasty grammatical errors. You‘re amazing!! ;D</p><p>Also, everyone‘s comments are absolutely flooring me?? Like, how are y’all so nice?? I was grinning like a maniac reading through them. You’re all so lovely!! :‘3 &lt;3</p><p>Note: title taken from the song „Parallel and Repeat“ by Seavera</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier ducks, feeling the whoosh of air at his hairline as the silver blade just barely misses him. </p><p> </p><p>The next step is instinctive, dormant training coming back in a rush as Jaskier jumps forward, clearly taking his attacker (another witcher? Seriously? Fuck where’s Geralt when you need him. Only he’s allowed to skewer Jaskier, dammit) by surprise.</p><p> </p><p>It‘s not enough to bowl the mutant over, obviously, but the man does lose his balance momentarily, which gives Jaskier the opportunity to draw the dagger from his sleeve and parry the next swing at the last second. </p><p> </p><p>The impact rattles his bones painfully. It’s been too long since he’s had to use a weapon for defense. </p><p> </p><p>Fuck, bards usually don’t need weapons, period. </p><p> </p><p>Then again, Jaskier isn’t your typical bard. </p><p> </p><p>He’d never been particularly interested in sword fighting but, with him technically being royalty, those skills had been honed rather vigorously from a young age anyway. </p><p> </p><p>At first by tradition, and afterwards, when he’d run away with his sister, by necessity. </p><p> </p><p>Though it had always come more naturally to Renfri than to him. </p><p> </p><p>Regardless, while he may be more skilled than the average bandit, he’s no match for a fucking witcher. At least not for long. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier sidesteps another well aimed swipe, but only barely, the meager distance giving the witcher enough space to bring up his other hand and Jaskier recognizes the subtle hand gesture even before the pressure wave hits him, making him stumble backwards a few steps, disoriented. </p><p> </p><p>The witcher doesn’t lose time and jumps forward, raising the silver sword high above his head to bring it down hard toward the bard. </p><p> </p><p>Terror clogs Jaskier‘s throat and he throws the arm with his dagger up, hoping to at least redirect the blade so it won‘t slice his head clean off his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>The sword comes down and Jaskier braces himself for the pain, the burning, and-</p><p> </p><p>Another blade collides with the stranger’s sword with unstoppable force, sending his aggressor back a few feet. </p><p> </p><p>White hair flashes into Jaskier’s vision like a halo as a familiar body pushes itself in front of Jaskier, teeth bared in a furious snarl, eyes ablaze. </p><p> </p><p>“Geralt,” Jaskier breathes, like a prayer heard- and-answered. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt charges forward with a guttural growl, delivering a series of skillful blows in rapid succession, moving with a blind fury such as Jaskier has seldom witnessed. </p><p> </p><p>The stranger can do naught but deflect the strikes as best as he can, now put on the defensive.  It’s obvious who has the upper hand. It’s a testimony to Geralt’s skill as well as his temper. The white haired witcher may rarely lose his grip on said temper, but when he does... well. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier is heaving, both from the slowly receding panic (because Geralt is here, Geralt won’t let anything happen to him, not yet) and the physical exertion of parrying the powerful strikes. Sweat trickles down the side of his neck, but he doesn’t wipe it away. </p><p> </p><p>He’s still wired, high strung and electrified, following each move the witchers make with undivided attention just in case Geralt makes a mistake. </p><p> </p><p>Which isn’t likely, but...</p><p> </p><p>Fuck, no matter how good you are, he’d had to cover Renfri’s ass more than once when she overestimated herself. </p><p> </p><p>And he’s not gonna lose another person to that shitty bullheaded overconfidence. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt, unsurprisingly, does not make a mistake and has his opponent at sword point after another set of swift strikes, sending the other’s sword clattering to the ground. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier is of half a mind to run and pick it up, but thinks better of the idea when he remembers his newfound allergy to all things silver. </p><p> </p><p>“You have one second to explain yourself, Eskel,” Geralt growls, vocal cords no doubt straining around the parts that aren’t human, forcing him to resort to something more feral sounding. </p><p> </p><p>Which, ok, they know each other?!</p><p> </p><p>“Explaining myself to a spelled individual usually doesn’t do any good,” the other witcher says calmly. </p><p> </p><p>Now that Jaskier isn’t actively trying to avoid getting sliced up like a birthday cake, he takes a moment to actually look at the other, immediately noticing the pale scars crisscrossing every visible inch of skin, and the deep one running along the left side of a face framed by brown, unevenly chopped hair. </p><p> </p><p>“Explain.”</p><p> </p><p>The stranger cocks his head, thick brows furrowing slightly. Only then does Jaskier see the medallion dangling from his neck. </p><p> </p><p>It’s the same one Geralt wears. </p><p> </p><p>“I was hired to terminate the one traveling with Geralt of Rivia and thus break the curse upon him.”</p><p> </p><p>What. The. Fuck!? </p><p> </p><p>Geralt opens his mouth to reply, but Jaskier is faster. With one swift motion he’s beside the White Wolf, pointing an accusing finger at this “Eskel” person (still at a safe distance, mind you).  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck did you smoke man!? I was just minding my own business and you descended on me like a goddamn striga! Also, do you think anybody,” he points at Geralt almost violently, “Could successfully put him under a spell? Have you MET him!?”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel blinks, looking stunned. Geralt just grunts softly, but doesn’t argue. </p><p> </p><p>“I... expected something different,” Eskel muttered finally, slightly cowed. “Someone told me you’d been bewitched, Geralt. I wanted to help.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier throws his hands in the air. </p><p> </p><p>Of. Bloody. Course. </p><p> </p><p>“Whoever told you that was misinformed,” Geralt starts. </p><p> </p><p>“No shit!”</p><p> </p><p>“Jaskier is no threat,” the white haired witcher continues.</p><p> </p><p>Well, Jaskier would beg to differ since he does vividly remember a time when he’d made a kebab out of a few men, together with his sister. (In his defense, they’d deserved it.)</p><p> </p><p>Then again, his sister had done most of the work anyway. </p><p> </p><p>Eskel tilts his head, amber eyes (so much like Geralt’s but not quite) really looking at him for the first time. There’s a newfound light behind them. “Jaskier? Like the bard?”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier puffs up his chest proudly. “The one and only.”</p><p> </p><p>“Blimey...” the witcher mutters, now positively sheepish and scratching the back of his neck. “I love your songs! And to think I almost killed you... that would have been a disaster.”  </p><p> </p><p>Geralt, apparently deeming Eskel no longer a threat, lets his own sword sink with an eye roll. “You’d change your mind if you were the one he traveled with.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey!” Jaskier exclaims, indignant. With the adrenaline fading he’s starting to feel minimally lightheaded, vision a little fuzzy around the edges. “My voice is flawless. It’s not my fault you have no taste.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt ignores him in favor of sheathing his sword. “Jaskier, this is Eskel.” he introduces. “We both trained at Kaer Morhen. Although I don’t remember him being this daft.”</p><p> </p><p>“I thought I was helping you!” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes. Thought being the keyword. We will need to have words about this client of yours...” Geralt grumbles. Then, quite suddenly, his face softens into something that almost resembles a smile as he grasps Eskel‘s shoulder lightly. </p><p> </p><p>Eskel, in turn, returns the gesture, grinning. “Yes. And you’ll have to tell me why you didn’t spend the last winter with us!”</p><p> </p><p>And no, there’s absolutely no ugly jealousy making Jaskier‘s belly ache at the familiarity they show each other. None at all. </p><p> </p><p>He pushes the dagger moodily into his boot, careful to position it so he won’t accidentally sever his Achilles’ heel, and goes to inspect the torn cloth of his sleeve again. “One of you,” he says flatly and switches to fix his shirt collar, “will pay for this.”</p><p> </p><p>Out of the corner of his eye he sees Eskel shoot him an amused look, eyebrows drawing together soon after. “Are you hurt?”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier looks up the same second that Geralt turns around, keen eyes roving over his form, nostrils flaring as his amber orbs settle on a point just below Jaskier‘s head. Geralt pales. </p><p> </p><p>“I don‘t think,” Jaskier starts, then stops abruptly when he notices the red stains on his left hand. “Oh.” Huh, maybe it hadn’t been sweat after all. </p><p> </p><p>“Jaskier” Geralt says, mild panic lacing his voice as he bounds over and peels the edge of the bard‘s shirt away from his sticky neck. </p><p> </p><p>“Gera- stop- ow!” he yelps when the sudden sting registers, glaring halfheartedly at the waterfall of white air streaked with dirt. </p><p> </p><p>The moment they found a stream, Jaskier would push him into it. </p><p> </p><p>The witcher exhales audibly, stepping back with both hands flecked in blood. “It‘s just a shallow cut. A little red.” Geralt glowers at Eskel. “Did you not clean your sword properly?”</p><p> </p><p>It’s funny. Jaskier hadn’t even noticed the throbbing before, but now that he’s aware of the wound, he feels the burning kick in. The telltale agony of silver having cut through delicate flesh. </p><p> </p><p>The bard has to grit his teeth to keep from whining, hand flying up to clutch at the wound. </p><p> </p><p>Overhead, the bird from before screeches again. Vaguely familiar. </p><p> </p><p>Eskel frowns, the apologetic expression coupled with bewilderment. “I did! Uhm, I have a couple salves with me though.... safe for humans, even!”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt hums, gently grasping Jaskier’s arm. “I think we should stop for now.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier throws him a scathing look. “Oh, thank you,” he says, voice dropping with sarcasm. “It’s so nice of you to give a fuck after you stormed off on god knows what whim!” </p><p> </p><p>“You managed well enough on your own.” Geralt replies dryly at the same time that Eskel says “That’s probably my fault.”</p><p> </p><p>The bard presses his lips together, suddenly irrationally angry. “Yeah, because nothing is ever saint Geralt‘s fault!”</p><p> </p><p>And it’s dumb, because logically he knows Geralt didn’t intend for this to happen. He’s always tried to protect Jaskier to the best of his abilities. Even gets downright panicked when Jaskier vanishes to meet up with a questionable mage. </p><p> </p><p>As long as Geralt believes him to be the human, fragile, vulnerable Jaskier, the Witcher’s protective instincts were sure to hold. </p><p> </p><p>If he starts having doubts, however...</p><p> </p><p>Which brings him back to the kiss, and the fucked-up shit that led up to it.  </p><p> </p><p>Something sour curls in his gut, settles there around his organs, squeezing. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps that’s why Geralt had stormed off with Roach like that. He can‘t believe that the vigilant Geralt of Rivia hadn’t sensed another witcher so close by. Maybe he’d wanted to see what Jaskier would do if confronted with such a threat. </p><p> </p><p>And showing up just when Eskel was about to chop his head off... Geralt‘s timing had been a little too perfect, anyway. </p><p> </p><p>The marbles clink and clank, rolling from one corner of his mind to the other. </p><p> </p><p>(Of course, of course Geralt doesn’t actually want to kiss him. Doesn’t actually like him like... that.)</p><p> </p><p>Fuck... Jaskier should want to kill Geralt slowly and put his head on a spike for taking the bard’s beloved twin away, not... not love him. </p><p> </p><p>“Be quiet.” Geralt says, motioning for Eskel to follow them as he places one hand on the bard‘s back. </p><p> </p><p>“Jaskier, I truly am sorry for attacking you!” Eskel sounds almost mournful, so strikingly different to the facade of indifference Geralt wears like a second skin. </p><p> </p><p>“Next time, Eskel, I won‘t give you the benefit of the doubt.” The hand on his back pushes, feather light. Geralt moves so he’s always between the bard and Eskel. </p><p> </p><p>An immovable wall. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier deflates and lets Geralt lead him through the trees. The warmth from the Witcher’s hand soaks through the fabric of his shirt. (Wine red, 30 coins. Geralt is so paying him back.)</p><p> </p><p>Behind them, Eskel shuffles along. Silent. The same as Geralt when he trudges through the woods.  </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier had always marveled at it, the ability to move soundlessly. </p><p> </p><p>Roach greets them only a few feet away, pawing at the ground. She whickers when they come into view and trots forward until she’s able to nose worriedly at the hand Jaskier extends. She pointedly ignores both witchers. </p><p> </p><p>The anger siphons out of Jaskier like tar, thick and heavy. Leaving him exhausted to the point that he sags infinitesimally, leaning into Geralt’s solid form. </p><p> </p><p>The witcher grunts in surprise, but only reacts by accommodating his hold a bit so he‘s supporting the bard better. </p><p> </p><p>For the life of him, Jaskier can’t remember why he’d gotten so furious so suddenly in the first place. </p><p> </p><p>He knows Geralt will end him eventually. </p><p> </p><p>Fuck, he wants it. </p><p> </p><p>Not to die. Gods, he wants to live so badly, to keep composing, travel with Geralt all across the continent, to see Ciri grow up and become a force of nature. </p><p> </p><p>But he’s tired. Tired of lying to Geralt, and tired of slowly losing his mind to whatever sick game Stregobor is playing. And maybe... maybe Geralt will keep something of his like he did with Renfri. </p><p> </p><p>When Jaskier had first noticed the brooch, he’d almost cried. And then again when he’d noticed how carefully Geralt cleans it, polishing each stone with a somber expression on his face. </p><p> </p><p>At least he knows that Geralt won’t be alone. He has Ciri. He has Yennefer. He has Roach. They won’t let him be alone, which is just as well because Geralt handles loneliness almost worse than Jaskier does and... and he doesn’t want Geralt to feel guilty for what he’ll have to do. Never. </p><p> </p><p>The cut on his throat throbs painfully. If all inhuman beings feel this way when they’re scratched with a silver sword, he can understand why they lose their shit so goddamn quickly. (Honestly, how can one little eclipse fuck with one‘s life so godsdamned much!?)</p><p> </p><p>Gods, he hopes Geralt will make it quick when the time comes. Because he can’t promise to not slap the living shit out of the witcher if he doesn’t do the deed swiftly. (Swiftly as in “oh, look at those pretty flowers Gera- blergh... oh, hi Renfri! How’s it been sis?”) </p><p> </p><p>A twig snaps beneath Jaskier’s boot and the bird overhead calls out again, the sound drawn out and mournful. </p><p> </p><p>And at long last he recognizes it, just as he sees the shrike’s prey impaled on the thorns of a firethorn shrub. </p><p> </p><p>______</p><p> </p><p>Later, when they’re settled, Geralt cleans his wound with clinical precision, only halting when he’s wiped away all the blood, no doubt recognizing the telltale signs of burned skin. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier grits his teeth in anticipation, balling his fists in the fabric of his bedroll. </p><p> </p><p>Eskel had left them shortly after they’d reached a small stream, going back out into the dense woods to hunt. Jaskier hasn’t decided yet whether or not his absence is a blessing </p><p> </p><p>But to his surprise (or lack thereof, considering that it’s Geralt) the witcher doesn’t say anything, just keeps cleaning the cut some more before dipping two fingers in the yellowish salve Eskel had supplied them with, smearing the stuff generously over the bard’s abused skin. </p><p> </p><p>No confrontation, then. He can live with that. </p><p> </p><p>But by now, even Geralt has to have noticed that humans don’t get fucking burned when coming into contact with silver. </p><p> </p><p>Or maybe he’s just sorely overestimated the Witcher’s intelligence. (After all, not everyone can be gifted with all around perfection like Jaskier.)</p><p> </p><p>The salve has a cooling effect, instantly relieving the worst of the pain and starts numbing the rest with an uncomfortable tingle. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier exhales softly when Geralt screws the salve’s lid back on and lets it drop back into the depths of Eskel’s bags. </p><p> </p><p>“It should scab over by morning,” Geralt says, making his way to the water to wash his hands. </p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Jaskier replies, finding the situation to be rather... anticlimactic. </p><p> </p><p>He wonders if Geralt just has a very bad case of the denials. </p><p> </p><p>Not that he’s gonna argue. It’s pretty neat to not be dead, all things considered. </p><p> </p><p>“So, you can use a knife after all.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier lifts his head, more than a little confused that this is what the Witcher wants to focus on. Not to mention that two full sentences— unprompted, imagine that— in succession are incredibly unusual for him. </p><p> </p><p>“Uhm, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“Would have been useful to know.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t like fighting.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt cocks his head, wiping his hands on the fabric of a discarded piece of cloth. His face is a perfectly blank slate. “Who taught you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you think anybody taught me?” Jaskier pulls his lute across the bedroll, pulling absently at a few strings. </p><p> </p><p>“Because I’ve seen that fighting style before.”</p><p> </p><p>The lute gives a discordant note, vibrating wildly in protest as Jaskier accidentally pulls too hard, almost snapping a string. He puts the instrument down before he can damage her any further, then stares defiantly ahead and starts counting the leaves on the tree opposite him. </p><p> </p><p>A hand snakes around the bark, followed by a familiar face framed in brunette locks. Renfri waves. </p><p> </p><p>The marbles click and clatter, scatter themselves all across the fracturing scape of his mind; flattening the wilting flowers.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier blinks and she is gone. But the image is burned into his retina. </p><p> </p><p>The bard shakes his head, eyes circling back to Geralt who’s watching him like a hawk. Again, there’s something inexplicable etched into his expression. But above all, who would have guessed, is frustration. </p><p> </p><p>——-</p><p> </p><p>Geralt is almost proud of how well he keeps his frustration over their situation in check for the remainder of the day and well into the night. </p><p> </p><p>It’s only when Jaskier sleeps soundly, with Roach as his recently acquired shadow, that he starts questioning Eskel as to the nature of his presence. </p><p> </p><p>“A mage sent me,” Eskel says quietly. </p><p> </p><p>Both their eyes are set on Jaskier, careful to monitor his heart rate in case he should find his way back to consciousness while they’re still talking. </p><p> </p><p>Everything in Geralt contracts and snarls at the revelation. “Stregobor?”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel blinks momentarily, confused, and shakes his head slowly. “No. A sorceress with blonde hair.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt blinks, a little thrown off. From the second he’d first caught scent of the other witcher he’d suspected Eskel had come for Geralt himself. To deliver a message from Vesemir perhaps, or seek help with a beast that best be taken on in a group. </p><p> </p><p>It’s why he’d gone ahead. To greet the other in private. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, that had proven to be a mistake as Eskel had gone straight for Jaskier. A mistake that also revealed Jaskier to be quite the capable sword fighter. Or rather, knife-wielder. </p><p> </p><p>“Why did she send you after Jaskier?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Eskel shifts uncomfortably. “She didn’t say it was Jaskier, just... a man who’s able to bewitch people and has already killed a great many. Someone who was born under the Black Sun.”</p><p> </p><p>Everything grinds to a halt; the world stops its endless spinning dance around the sun and drops into the void. </p><p> </p><p>He can see the moment Eskel registers the change in his body language, reacting subconsciously to the growing agitation inside him by tilting his head to expose his neck, body lax. </p><p> </p><p>As high strung as Geralt is right now he appreciates the gesture, taking mild comfort in the display of submission; no threat for Geralt or his pa- his companions. </p><p> </p><p>He’d suspected some form of connection between Renfri and Jaskier. Maybe an acquaintance that had evolved into more (the beast-thing-abomination twists, snarls and screeches in affront). It would certainly have explained his obvious distaste towards Stregobor. </p><p> </p><p>“Only the girls were thought to be affected.”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel nods. “Yeah, he’s supposedly some sort of anomaly. True evil, or some such thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Deidre isn’t evil,” Geralt finds himself saying, taken back to when he’d returned to Kaer Morhen one winter to find the girl there. Afterall, he’s not the only witcher to have unknowingly claimed a child. </p><p> </p><p>Eskel nods grimly. “No, she’s not. She was just born at an... unfortunate time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then I don’t quite understand why you agreed.” There’s anger now, causing a low rumble to reverberate through his chest. </p><p> </p><p>The other witcher leans back a little, removing himself from Geralt’s biting and swiping range before turning his hands so the palms face up. No threat. </p><p> </p><p>“Like I said. She told me that this one was a cold-blooded killer that had managed to bewitch one of us. And since you didn’t come to Kaer Morhen last winter... I thought it added up. You can’t deny that some of the girls did end up... wrong. Doesn’t matter if it was nature or nurture. A monster’s a monster if it kills innocents.” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt can’t argue there. It’s almost the same code he lives by, after all. There’s a reason Eskel and him are considered brothers by the School of the Wolf. And the only reason Geralt didn’t chop his head off when he’d attacked Jaskier. </p><p> </p><p>“Jaskier does not kill,” he says softly, remembering many times when the bard had cried over the bodies of sisters, mothers, sons, and loved ones found in the lair of a beast recently slayed. And the one time he’d cried and screamed at Geralt when he’d mistakenly killed a doe, her newborn fawn looking up at them from the tall grass, eyes impossibly large and terrified. </p><p> </p><p>(Jaskier had carried the animal to the next village, threatening to “ruin your reputation, Geralt!” if he didn’t help him. So Geralt had indulged him. Of course he’d indulged him. The sheer sorrow wafting off Jaskier had made the witcher so nauseous he’d have done anything to make it go away. They’d stayed in that village for a week before the little fawn died, curled up on Jaskier’s chest; peaceful. The bard didn’t smile or sing for two weeks after.) </p><p> </p><p>Eskel’s eyes flicker. “You have a lot of faith in him.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve been traveling together for a while.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not what I meant.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt glares, teeth pulling back into snarl. “What do you mean, then?”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel smiles serenely, putting a finger to his lips. “Calm down, White Wolf. You’re alarming our friend.”</p><p> </p><p>Sure enough Jaskier’s brows are furrowed in sleep, the lines of his mouth pulled tight as an occasional incoherent mumble escapes him. </p><p> </p><p>Immediately Geralt forcibly calms himself down, the beast-thing-animal-monster whining pathetically when he ruthlessly clamps down on the urge to scoot over and soothe the restless bard. </p><p> </p><p>The actual surprise, however, comes in the form of Jaskier’s expression smoothing out only a moment after Geralt had relaxed, making Eskel stifle a grin behind his scarred hands. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt shoots him an unimpressed look. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, I’m not judging!” Eskel says, softly. “Gods know Deidre is more attuned to me than I am.” The mirth in his voice fades away a second afterwards however. “You care for him. Greatly.”</p><p> </p><p>He briefly considers denying it, but  what would be the point? “Hm.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know the silver burned him.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt grits his teeth, sharp canines giving off an uncomfortable squeal as they slide against one another. “Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>Now it’s Eskel’s turn to quietly “hmm”. </p><p> </p><p>They sit in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the forest surrounding them. There’s a certain kind of peace to it, the faint sounds of leaves rustling and animals scurrying through the underbrush in search for food. Geralt finds no reprieve in familiarity of it tonight. </p><p> </p><p>He watches Jaskier’s sleeping form, the steady rise and fall of his chest with each in- and exhale. </p><p> </p><p>The fire has long since died down to embers, and part of Geralt is of half a mind to go seek new firewood because he knows how easily Jaskier gets cold. </p><p> </p><p>Roach snorts, glaring hard at her master from where she’s settled a few feet behind Jaskier, as if daring Geralt to leave. </p><p> </p><p>“There’s dark magic clinging to him, Geralt. It’s why I attacked him without asking questions first.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt closes his eyes briefly. “I’m aware.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s hard to miss even if he tried. The presence of chaos that strikes all wrong, rising and declining like the tide. </p><p> </p><p>There’s always been something otherworldly clinging to Jaskier’s skin. A fragrance of sunshine that’s not quite natural, but since the incident at the castle, the pleasant smell had deteriorated ever so slowly, jumping between decay and rot. </p><p> </p><p>It had abated, if only momentarily, when they’d kissed. The underlying fragrance giving way again to sunshine and summer breeze. </p><p> </p><p>And gods, that’s a whole other thing he doesn’t even want to start considering right now. </p><p> </p><p>(Although it’s hard to get it out of his head. To not think about the taste of someone who’d managed to carve a place in the marrow of his bones, whose scent makes the beast-thing-mutation purr and whine, forget it’s meant to be bloodthirsty.</p><p> </p><p>To forget that the bard had been the one to initiate the kiss, no matter his drunkenness. To forget the want and desperation he’d seen in those cornflower eyes, the way he’d clung to Geralt like a lifeline and... and he hopes so bad that not all of it was due to the extensive amount of alcohol Jaskier had consumed beforehand.)</p><p> </p><p>Fuck, he’d wanted so bad to throw all caution to the wind and just... give in. To that terrifying urge, get lost in the sensation of not being treated like the abomination he is. </p><p> </p><p>To forget that the world exists and consistently tries its damn best to take and take and take everything he’d ever cherished away from him. </p><p> </p><p>Not Jaskier. </p><p> </p><p>Fuck. </p><p> </p><p>He can’t let it take Jaskier. </p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t matter.”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel’s expression turns to one of pity. “Geralt, brother, it does matter.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not to me. We’ll manage. Yen- one of the sorceresses at Aretuza, she’ll help us.”</p><p> </p><p>A sigh from the fellow witcher tells Geralt everything he needs to know about what the other thinks, but he absolutely refuses to write this off. </p><p> </p><p>He’d made so, so many mistakes. Wrong choices that hadn’t let him sleep and made him fish for a djinn. Which then happened to be yet another wrong choice. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t regret meeting Yen. Never. </p><p> </p><p>Despite the grudge she’s still clinging to since that day on the mountain, the woman is one of the few he’d trust with his life. That he’d trust with Ciri. </p><p> </p><p>Because no matter how ambitious and ruthless she may be at times, Yen has never been one for unnecessary cruelty, nor disloyalty. </p><p> </p><p>And Geralt knows that the sorceress, in her own way, is actually quite fond of his bard. Can see it in the way she doesn’t tense with him around. The way the banter and snarky remarks directed at Jaskier remain just that— banter. The dislike had long since faded from her in Jaskier’s presence. </p><p> </p><p>“Geralt, we both know that-“</p><p> </p><p>“No. I don’t want to hear it.”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel’s mouth shuts with an audible click. The disappointment is nonverbal, but it stands starkly in the silence like the pillars of Aretuza. </p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, that silence only lasts a few seconds, because Eskel is a menace when it comes to annoying the fuck out of people with his calm disposition.  </p><p> </p><p>Fucking fuck. </p><p> </p><p>“Deidre saw-“</p><p> </p><p>“Well, Deidre has been wrong before!” Geralt snaps in a rare display of frustration, then immediately feels bad about. Then feels angry about feeling bad. </p><p> </p><p>On his bedroll, Jaskier stirs again, arm flying out to drape haphazardly over the ground. It falls only a few feet short of the hot coals, and Geralt rolls his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>The bard hogs warmth like a freezing cat. It’s almost endear- </p><p> </p><p>Geralt cuts the thought off before it’s finished. </p><p> </p><p>“For Melitele’s- Geralt! Listen to yourself!” Eskel hisses urgently, throwing a small rock at the other’s head. </p><p> </p><p>It bounces off Geralt’s temple, leaving him to stare darkly at his comrade. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re running headfirst into a deathtrap like some idiot novice!” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s not-“</p><p> </p><p>“It is!” the brunet stresses, gesturing with a knife. “Damnit Geralt, I refuse to be the one to go back to Kaer Morhen and tell Vesemir that one of us got themselves killed because of sheer stupidity!”</p><p> </p><p>“Then don’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel shoots him a nasty look, with an intensity that could send any monster within a five-mile radius running for the hills. “You know what? Fine. See if I care.” </p><p> </p><p>Technically Geralt knows that Eskel is right. That he’s offering both Jaskier and himself up like lambs for slaughter, and that what Eskel has to say would be incredibly valuable (potentially detrimental). But all the implications, the half-formed sentences and pieces of information he’s getting are painting a picture that he doesn’t like. </p><p> </p><p>(And yes, in the isolated quiet of his mind Geralt can admit that there’s dread and fear curling in the pit of his stomach.)</p><p> </p><p>“I will handle this,” he says again, more to reassure himself than anything else. He watches a sleeping Jaskier take a few puffy breaths. He’s curled into a tight ball now, gangly limbs folded together. The night is not exactly cold—for a witcher’s standards it’s even quite ideal— but still.  ”We’ve faced worse odds.”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel snorts, apparently done trying to talk sense into Geralt as he plops down on his own bedroll, facing away from Geralt pointedly. “You’re taking first shift.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt carefully does not point out that those shifts aren’t really necessary in the middle of nowhere with two witchers camping side by side, so he just goes back to watching Jaskier before letting his gaze wander to the darkness of the woods behind him. </p><p> </p><p>The coals glimmer softly, unconcerned by the inner turmoil of their creator as a few birds call out to each other in the distance, occasionally interrupted by the deep hoot of an owl. </p><p> </p><p>He hopes desperately that Yen will know how to help. Fuck, he’ll even get down on his knees and beg if that’s what it takes. </p><p> </p><p>Eskel shifts on his bedroll, still turned away from Geralt as he says quietly, “This could destroy you.” </p><p> </p><p>A whine builds up low in his chest and immediately ends there as the witcher squashes it violently. </p><p> </p><p>Eskel says no more, and soon enough his breaths even out in sleep. </p><p> </p><p>The “I know” goes unsaid, but in the silence, it’s strongly implied. </p><p> </p><p>——-</p><p> </p><p>The next day finds Jaskier and Eskel alone at their campsite, with Geralt gone out to check a couple traps and look for any clues as to the approaching presence of that so-called Night Raven. (Which sounds like a damn good inspiration for a song. He’ll definitely have to ask Geralt about the nature of said creature soon.)</p><p> </p><p>The bard is busying himself by grooming Roach to the best of his abilities, removing broken off sticks and plant fragments from her tail and mane while Eskel sorts through his bag. </p><p> </p><p>Honestly, he absolutely despises Geralt for leaving him alone with this weird “brother” of his again. </p><p> </p><p>Eskel is nice enough, sure. But he decidedly does not like the knowing looks the brunet witcher throwing him every damn minute. </p><p> </p><p>“I hear Creyden is beautiful this time of year,” Eskel says conversationally. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier tenses, his fingers pulling too hard on a knot in Roach’s mane on accident. She nickers unhappily, but thankfully doesn’t turn to bite him. </p><p> </p><p>“Is that so?” he asks eventually in a cheerful tone that sounds only slightly strained, pointedly not looking at the witcher who isn’t his White Wolf.  </p><p> </p><p>“Yes. I’ve heard the dandelions-“</p><p> </p><p>“Look, I know Geralt likes to pretend I lack a brain, but quit beating around the bush please.”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel chuckles. “Touchy.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier shoots him an unimpressed look just as the witcher crosses his arms over his chest, smiling mildly. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier wonders where Geralt is. His knack for showing up in tough situations is not really gaining any bonus points. </p><p> </p><p>“Alright then, I know who you are, Julian of Creyden.”</p><p> </p><p>The bard startles so badly that Roach throws her head back with a frightened neigh, front hooves momentarily leaving the ground. </p><p> </p><p>“Wha-“ Jaskier whirls around, eyes full of panic, searching for a shock of white hair amidst the trees. When he finds none, he turns to Eskel. He briefly considers denying it, but then decides that his behavior had already been suspicious enough. “Did you tell Geralt!?”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel snorts as if personally offended. “I’m not stupid, Jaskier. Please calm down. He’s too far away to hear us.” </p><p> </p><p>The bard fists his hand in Roach’s mane and the mare noses the side of his face in silent question. “Will you tell him?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. But I hoped that you would.”</p><p> </p><p>This time, Jaskier can’t help the laughter bubbling from deep within his chest and spilling past his lips  “And hasten my execution? No thank you.” </p><p> </p><p>The brown haired witcher frowns heavily. “You don’t truly believe that, do you?” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier rolls his eyes and proceeds to detangle  Roach’s mane. It gives him something to do while he chokes down the fear of being found out. Of having been found out. </p><p> </p><p>But, really, it was just a matter of time anyway. </p><p> </p><p>“Julian-“</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Jaskier</em>.” Jaskier says. “I go by Jaskier.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jaskier, then. You can’t actually believe that Geralt would hurt you?” </p><p> </p><p>“It’s quite literally his job.” </p><p> </p><p>Eskel’s frown, if possible, seems to deepen and his brows draw together so much that his eyes are almost fully obscured. “So you think he would kill Ciri if she were in your place?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, no!”</p><p> </p><p>“Then please, pray tell, why he would ever raise his sword to you?”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier grits his teeth, unwilling to admit that Eskel’s questions are pissing him off. Only partially due to the fact that he doesn’t really want to ponder over why he wants-</p><p> </p><p>Oh well, never matters what he wants anyway. </p><p> </p><p>“I thought you already know everything.”</p><p> </p><p>“Most things. But please, humor me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I doubt you have the coin to pay for my services.”</p><p> </p><p>“But Geralt does? Interesting. He’s probably getting some discount then. Do express your desired outcome for this situation.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t express how much I want to put your head on a spike right about now.”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel stares. Jaskier stares back. </p><p> </p><p>Only several seconds later does he backtrack and register what he just said. “Metaphorically...” he adds halfheartedly. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course.” The witcher says, voice dripping with sarcasm. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier swallows around the lump in his throat. He pulls a small piece of bread from his pocket to offer to Roach, who promptly gobbles it up after giving it an inquisitive sniff, and then bumps her snout against his pants, clearly demanding she be given more treats. </p><p> </p><p>When Eskel realizes that he won’t say any more of his own volition the man uncrosses his arms with a sigh and settles on a nearby log, fingers tapping the wood in a surprisingly steady rhythm. </p><p> </p><p>“I know of the prophecy tied to you, Jaskier.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier groans. “For fuck’s sake, can’t you drop it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope.” Eskel says, popping the last syllable teasingly.   </p><p> </p><p>“Well then get to the fucking point, witcher!”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel seems to consider that, studying him with such intense scrutiny that it makes Jaskier’s skin crawl. </p><p> </p><p>“Has the confusion settled in yet? The anger?”</p><p> </p><p>“Over you? Most definitely.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jul- Jaskier, I know you don’t want think about it” The Witcher’s amber eyes are so sympathetic that the bard wants to hurl. The thing about Eskel is he doesn’t try to hide his feelings like Geralt does, and even though Jaskier considers it a nice change of pace, he decidedly abhors the pity he sees almost constantly, sitting just below the surface. “But you know it’s important.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier inhales deeply, trying to calm himself down enough to continue the conversation without any major breakdowns on his part. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he answers eventually. “But- but it’s not too worrisome yet. I’m still myself. For the most part.”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel nods like he already knows. Then he reaches inside the pouch of his belt, making Jaskier tense, but what he pulls out is just a small vial full of translucent, green tinged liquid that he holds out for the bard to take. </p><p> </p><p>Which he does, after carefully considering the odds of the vial turning into a spike and biting him. </p><p> </p><p>“And this is?”</p><p> </p><p>“Time.” Eskel says, shrugging. “It will buy you some more time before the next... stage.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier narrows his eyes. “And how exactly would you know so much about my condition?”</p><p> </p><p>Again, Eskel smiles brightly. It’s a nice smile, too, Jaskier has to grudgingly admit. Despite the deep scars marring the man’s face, he exudes an aura of peace that no being with his profession should rightfully possess. </p><p> </p><p>“Geralt isn’t the only witcher dumb enough to claim the Law of Surprise and get a child out of it. Mine just happened to be born under the Black Sun.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier blinks, thrown off by the sudden revelation. “You what?”</p><p> </p><p>“My child surprise, Deidre. She was born under the Black Sun, just like you and your sister.” Eskel clarifies. “She dreamt about you. Well, not you specifically, but about the person who’d end up the subject of the prophecy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wonderful. And she, what, brewed some potion, gave it to you and sent you off into the world to find the poor guy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous. This is normally a potion used by witchers.”</p><p> </p><p>“So now you want to poison me? You do know it’s counterproductive to tell the victim about that beforehand? Like, dude, you’re kinda crap at this. Full offense intended.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s infused with chaos. And if your current mental state and vulnerability to silver is any indication, then that potion will harm you about as much as an Axii sign.” Eskel says dryly, before adding “Which means you should be immune to most magics by now,” in a deadpan voice that annoys Jaskier to no end. </p><p> </p><p>“Wow, yes, thank you. I’m always delighted to be told things about myself by other people. What else? Will my mere presence soon bewitch Geralt like you’d assumed?” </p><p> </p><p>“Not that I’m aware of.” The witcher replies coolly. “But he’s already as bewitched as I’ve ever seen him.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Yeah, thank Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg for that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who?”</p><p> </p><p>“The hot but very much insane love of Geralt’s life.”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel looks at Jaskier like he’d spontaneously grown another head. A head that lacks a mouth. And is adorned with huge, ugly boils.   ”...Right. Makes total sense.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier nods emphatically. “Yup, that’s why we’re headed for Aretuza. Ciri and Yen will know to keep him company after this disaster is finally over.” </p><p> </p><p>“Of course.” </p><p> </p><p>Again, the bard bobs his head in agreement. Satisfied that they’d finally reached a sort of common ground. “Ciri was scheduled to travel with Geralt for a while in a few months either way. So it’s the perfect timing.”</p><p> </p><p>“... Definitely. Especially since that will make it much easier for Geralt to bounce back from all... this.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier pockets the vial after giving it another suspicious look. He’d decide whether to down it or not later, although the promise of maintaining his sanity (or what remains of it) a little while longer sounds awfully appealing. And he doubts that Eskel would just up and poison him after that speech. “That’s the plan.”</p><p> </p><p>The witcher watches him, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face before settling on something that can only be described as a “huh-what-can-you-do” expression, and stands him with a flourish. His gaze drifts to the line of trees behind Jaskier and Roach, head tilted infinitesimally as if listening to something that normal senses can’t pick up on. </p><p> </p><p>Before Jaskier can ask what had caught Eskel’s attention, however, gold slanted eyes focus on him and Jaskier can do naught but stumble backwards into Roach when Eskel surges forward. “If you’re looking for him, Stregobor is hiding in an old castle a week’s ride from Aretuza.” He says, fast and low, as he passes by Jaskier to cheerily greet Geralt who is just now stepping from between the trees, very much occupied by the body of a boar he’s dragging behind him. </p><p> </p><p>“Shut up and make yourself useful.” He hears the comfortingly familiar voice huff out gruffly. </p><p> </p><p>Roach whickers, swishing her tail irritably as she glares holes into Eskel’s back. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier scratches her ear absently, watching as the witchers begin to skin the animal, bantering all the while. </p><p> </p><p>“Huh, so that’s where the wrinkly constipation-gremlin is camping out. Interesting.”</p><p> </p><p>The mare’s ears flick back. </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s see if I can up my body count one last time. What’cha say, girl?”</p><p> </p><p>Roach whinnies. </p><p> </p><p>It sounds the opposite of approving.     </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Eskel: so the bard-<br/>Geralt: touch him and I‘ll kill you<br/>Eskel: ???<br/>Geralt: he‘s really annoying  his songs are awful<br/>Eskel: well he‘ll probably die anyway so-<br/>Geralt: shut up. if anything happens to Jaskier I’ll raze this country and then kill myself<br/>Eskel: WHy ArE yoU lIKe ThiS!? </p><p> </p><p>Eskel: so Geralt likes you<br/>Jaskier: lol no he doesn’t<br/>Eskel: ... he literally told me he’d die for you.<br/>Jaskier: yeah man, he‘s really in love with Yen haven’t you heard?<br/>Eskel: ... you two are made for each other</p><p>——</p><p>Lol ok, as always: thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is always appreciated, as well as any other comments! I‘d love to hear what you guys think about this installment and what you reckon will happen next &gt;.&lt;</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>